(This piece originally appeared in Little Treasures magazine, and is on their website here. ) Last year I decided it was time to don high heels and un-strained clothes to sashay back into the workforce. Since having the girls I’ve done part time work, but it has all been from the comfort of my kitchen table involving limited contact with other actual adults. I should clarify: part time paid work – because the full-time mum gig is obviously a major job in itself. With interviews done and an offer made, I got to revel in the the giddy excitement that comes with realising someone wants to pay for the stuff your brain does. Swiftly followed by panic that my brain might not remember how to do the stuff it used to. I gave myself a quick pep talk about how I’d grown actual humans, dammit, and have been juggling things like some kind of mashup between a circus ninja and a UN Hostage negotiator ever since, so I’d be just fine. Last time I was in an …